


up and over we go

by spensierata



Category: The Office (US)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Canon Divergence, F/M, Unplanned Pregnancy, the convention au
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2020-12-31
Updated: 2021-02-27
Packaged: 2021-03-11 03:02:36
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 7,144
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28457997
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/spensierata/pseuds/spensierata
Summary: Inspired by the alleged original draft of The Covention, Angela told Dwight she’s late.
Relationships: Angela Martin/Dwight Schrute, Pam Beesly/Jim Halpert
Comments: 10
Kudos: 42





	1. unconventional

He handed her a yellow post-it note with the name of the hotel, his room number, and a doodle of a monkey and an opossum dancing the tango, and it felt like a promise.

“I’ll request a key for you at reception, under the name Jane Doe,” Dwight murmured into his coffee, leaning against the refrigerator door. He didn’t look at her, but his mouth curved into a small smile around the rim of his cup. She repressed her own, shooting a wary look at the cameras, pointed at them through the window of the break room.

“Good,” she replied quietly and picked at her beet salad.

“Did you get to your appointment okay?” 

Angela paused, trying and failing to work out what he meant by it.

“My what?” 

“When you left earlier, you said you were late,” he said with an earnestness that settled in her stomach like a stone. At the end of their last interaction, when he told her he’d be going to the convention, she had flung the confession at him out of hurt and fear. It had dawned on her that morning. Angela had left the farm and gone home to change, catching sight of her calender she registered that her week had already passed. She had stood staring at the little red cross doing calculations in her head until Ember knocked a glass off her nightstand, and she realised she was also late for work.

“Oh,” she said, slowly and evenly, “Yes. I did,”

Dwight nodded and turned to rinse out his mug. He hadn’t caught her meaning. Of course, he hadn’t. Angela watched him and tried to picture him as a father, making hot chocolate in the morning before his kids wake up, but had to look away.

“Goodbye, Angela,” he announced as he left, “I will see you upon my return in three days,”

“Goodbye, Dwight,” Angela replied, “Safe travels,” 

Angela caught his eyes for a moment, he gave her a secret smirk. She did not return it. 

* * *

Angela’s stomach churned the whole flight, and she told herself it was the turbulence. She sipped her ginger ale and flipped through the in-flight magazine. She paused on an article about family vacations, a little blonde girl with a gapped toothed grin perched on man’s shoulders. She closed her eyes and reached for the barf bag. 

She had felt the first inkling that she loved Dwight a few months ago, in summer, when he had laid a quilt over a bale of hay in the barn and she had lain against his chest as he told her the history of the land he lived on. The moon shone through the wooden slats, so when Angela looked up at him his pale skin gleamed almost silver, and she thought she could lie there forever. She forgot herself when she saw him again, rushing to throw her arms around him tightly.

“Hey, Monkey,” said Dwight, surprised but pleased. He bent down to kiss her, and she accepted hungrily, some of the tension in her shoulders melted away. 

“Jim saw me,” she told him after they broke apart. She pulled her cardigan tighter around her shoulders and considered turning off the air-con. “I don’t think he recognised me, but I don’t know if the camera’s caught it,”

“That explains why Jim was so giddy around me. What an imbecile,” Dwight breathed a dry chuckle, “Don’t worry, Monkey, If he asks I’ll simply tell him I arranged an escort” 

Angela slapped his arm, “Dwight! You will do no such thing.” she chastised.

Dwight grinned, snaked his arms around her waist to pull her in for another kiss, but she wriggled out of his grip, a palm on his chest.

“Is something wrong?” he asked, but she refused to meet his wounded gaze. “I was only kidding, Angela,”

“I know, I’m just tired from the flight,” she lied, “Could we just cuddle tonight? You can tell me about the convention, the stupid things that Jim said. I'll tell you about what happened in the park when I was walking with Sprinkles. You know, just talk about our day,” 

“Alright,” he agreed, “But first, I got something for you,” 

Dwight beamed as he handed her a plastic bag, which she took from his hands gleefully.

“You didn’t have to do that!"

“Of course I did, you know, it’s our one year anniversary?” Her head snapped up, with everything going on, the dates had slipped her mind. Angela realised that, yes, around this time last year there had been the fire, following which they had started exchanging hostile messages regarding which of them had fire marshal status. They had gradually warmed to snarking about their coworkers until one evening they were the last ones left in the office, and he had come to work quietly beside her, bringing a cup of her favourite herbal tea as an olive branch. This became a ritual until one night she met Dwight in the kitchen as her earl grey steeped. She hadn’t known quite what came over her when she pulled on his tie to lower his mouth to hers, only that when she finally pulled away and he had cleared his throat, his ears beet red, and asked if she wanted sweetener; that all she wanted was to do it again. 

“No… Is it? I’m sorry, Dwight, I didn’t realise,” Her cheeks burned with regret, but Dwight shrugged. 

“You can make it up to me later. Open it,”

Angela obliged, pulling a small navy box from the bag and opening it with a click. She gasped. Inside was a golden diamond-shaped pendant on a fine chain, with a deep red stone in the centre. “Dwight, it’s beautiful!”

“You like it? It’s the colonial Colonel rank ensign,” He asked, “I got it at the Sci-Fi convention next to ours, you wouldn’t believe it-” 

She didn’t let him finish, as she cut him off with a kiss. At that moment, she let herself forget about the future. 

* * *

She had decided to wait a few days before jumping to conclusions. Her cycle had been off before when she first became vegetarian for example, and when she was in college and working on countless term papers and living on caffeine and nutribars. It had changed when Pam joined the office, to her chagrin, her alpha womb being one of the many initial reasons she resented the receptionist. However, out of everyone in the office, she did find Pam to be an acceptable confidant. Angela knew about Pam’s suspicions about her and Dwight’s relationship. It seemed like she hadn't told anyone, as Kevin's lewd comments were still unspecific. 

Angela approached the front desk sound noon and picked through the jelly beans for the green ones. “I would like to speak to you privately,” She told Pam in a hushed tone, “Would you please join me in the ladies room?” She didn’t wait for her to reply or to turn her doe eyes to the camera in surprise and turned to walk briskly towards the break room door. 

Angela was perched on the ottoman, chewing her thumbnail when Pam arrived moments later. She was relieved to see the camera’s hadn’t followed her into the bathroom as she’d hoped. Knowing that the vultures would be circling outside the door, she motioned conspiratorially to the other woman and turned on the hand dryer to drown out her words. 

“Pam, thank you for joining me,” she said

“Is everything alright?” asked Pam, leaning in, eager to hear what she had to share so secretly. Angela smoothed her blouse, unable to meet her gaze.

“A friend of mine… She’s been seeing this man, a coworker, for some time now. _Intimately_ seeing him,” She started in a low voice, “And recently she’s noticed that certain bodily functions have not been…”

“ _Oh_ , Okay, Angela, I don’t need to-”

“I’m _late._ ” she hissed and looked up to challenge Pam’s stunned expression. She was quiet for a moment as what Angela was telling her sank in, the dryer turned off, leaving them in a heavy silence. After a few moments, Pam reached to turn it on again.

“You’re telling me, you-” She whispered, “Your _friend_ might be pregnant?”

“She doesn’t know for sure,” Angela whispered back, “But she doesn’t know what to do. She thinks… She cares very deeply about her coworker, but it’s all very sudden, I don’t- I mean, how is he going to react to this?” 

Pam chewed her lip, “I don’t know, Angela,” She said with honesty, “But maybe your friend should take a test before she does anything else,”

Angela’s eyes started to prickle. This was what she had been avoiding, knowing the definite, terrifying truth, but she knew deep down that not knowing would not make the situation go away. She said a silent Hail Mary and straightened her back.

“Do you have a test?” she asked.

“No... no, I don’t have one on me,” Pam slowly replied, “But, I can go with you to get one, if you want moral support. For your… friend,” 

Angela let out a shaky breath and nodded, “My friend would appreciate that,” 

They exchanged tight smiles, Pam gave Angela’s arm a quick squeeze and turned to leave. 

“Pam?” Angela called after her as she walked away. 

“I won’t tell anyone,” said Pam, and Angela believed her.

“Thank you,” she replied softly. Pam gave her a gentle look and shut the door behind her. Angela stood for a moment, then walked into a cubicle and fell to her knees. 

* * *

The office was silent but for the humming of the copy machines. Everyone including the camera crew had packed up and left, save for the two women, who had reconvened in the bathroom with a paper bag from 7-11. Pam touched Angela’s wrist to let her know that time was up. 

“Pam?” she asked, and willed her voice not to tremble, “Would you please look for me?” 

Pam paused, considered, then walked towards the sinks where the pregnancy test lay face down, and turned it over. A few silent moments passed, Pam said nothing.

“Well?” Angela demanded.

Pam looked at her, opened her mouth, closed it, then slowly nodded. 

Angela marched over and snatched the plastic stick from her hands to verify for herself. She stared at the unholy pink cross, the point where the two lines met and threw the test across the room in a rage that took her by surprise. 

“It’ll be okay,” Pam was telling her, but Angela ignored her. Her mother had always told her that emotion was unbecoming on a lady, her father had always told her to be seen and not heard. Now everyone was going to know, about her relationship, her perfect secret. She would be an unwed mother, she would be a slut, a whore, a harlot and the world would watch and judge her for it. 

And then there was Dwight. She would have to tell him. The truth was, she didn’t what terrified her more: Dwight being elated by her revelation, of the prospect of raising a child together, or the other scenario, where he is devastated, that she has ruined his life, forcing him to choose between happiness or honor.

The cool autumn air hit her before she realised her legs had carried her to the parking lot. Her hands trembled as she put the key in her ignition, but she couldn’t force herself to turn it. Angela put her head against the steering wheel and started to sob.


	2. garbage day

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Dwight is on a mission. A stupid, stupid mission. What else is new.

He didn’t know much about organised religion, at least, not in the monotheistic vein. Schrute's were encouraged from a young age to create their own deities, Dwight’s was named Björn. He had the physical strength of a bear, the killer instinct of a bear and the body of a bear. He confided in Björn throughout the formative years of his shunning, and he really became more of a friend than a god-like figure. 

After Dwight became a man, he didn’t really think about Björn much, except when Angela forced him to accompany her to church, and all he could really think about was how Björn was much cooler than an old white guy who sat on a cloud and judged people for having fun. But Angela's faith was important to her, and Angela was important to him. So, when he found himself sitting on a hard pew in a cold, empty church first thing on a Thursday morning, he muttered under his breath.

“Björn, I know we haven’t talked in a while, but I just wanted to say that if you had anything to do with Angela, then well done my furry friend,”

“Are you  _ praying _ ?” Speaking of the devil, Angela appeared behind him, her eyes gleamed with delight at the sight of him. 

“No,” He replied, standing up briskly, “Are you done with confession?” 

Angela’s face dropped ever so slightly, but she nodded, and led him out into the crisp morning, taking his large, calloused hand in her small, soft one. He always marvelled at how perfectly they seemed to fit together, despite the contrast.

“That was fun,” said Dwight dryly as he climbed into the passenger seat of Angela’s car. The sun had risen while they were inside and stained the clouds with amber light. “Do you want to come to the Farm for breakfast before work?”

“No, thank you, I’ll just drop you off,” Angela replied in a tight voice as she pulled out of the church parking lot. “I’m not feeling very well, and I need to feed the cats,” 

“You’re not getting sick are you, Monkey?” He asked, his concern tinged with apprehension. He leaned over the gear shift to press the back of his hand against her forehead. “You do seem more fatigued than usual,” 

Angela gently swatted him away, heaving a long-suffering sigh as she pulled out of the parking lot, “I’m fine, it’s probably just stress. There’s just… a lot going on, lately. At work, I mean,” 

Dwight furrowed his brow, wondering what she could be referring to. She usually thrived under pressure, that was one of the many things they had in common. It was a characteristic that bred mutual respect between them long before they became lovers. 

Angela drummed her fingers against the steering wheel to the tune of the radio, a classic Springsteen song, he sang along loudly and she rolled her eyes, pretending not to like it. 

“Thank you for coming, D,” she said, when they finally pulled up to the farm, approximately three 80’s rock ballads later. 

“It was my pleasure,” he replied cordially, “I’ll see you at the office in one hour,” He unbuckled his seat belt and reached for the door handle, but she stopped him before he stepped out of the car.

“Dwight,” she said, and leaned forward, cupping his face in her hands and pulling him towards her. She kissed him with a surprising urgency. Dwight eagerly reciprocated, moving to thread his fingers through her hair, not caring about messing up her intricate braid. Her cheeks were flushed when they parted moments later. He grinned at her, awestruck.

“What was that for?” 

Angela held his gaze for a moment, then looked down, almost sheepish, and tried to straighten her blouse.

“You’re just...You are a wonderful boyfriend,” She said quietly. Dwight’s smile widened at that.

“As are you,” He replied, then cleared his throat. “Girlfriend, I mean… A wonderful girlfriend. Ok. Bye, Monkey,” 

He watched as Angela drove away, then he dusted cat hair from his pants and walked back to the farmhouse. It wasn’t a bad start to the day. 

* * *

While it was far from the first time Dwight had found himself rummaging through the garbage cans outside the office building to recover essential documents Michael had misplaced, it was rare that he uncovered any potentially useful information to use against one of his work colleagues. He could tell by the reactions of the documentary crew as he held the little white stick up for the camera’s to see, that he had struck gold. 

Michael was less than enthused when he slapped it on his desk. “What is this supposed to be, Dwight?” he asked, poking it with the end of his ballpoint pen. 

“It is a positive pregnancy test, I found it in the dumpster and it belongs to someone in this office,” Dwight replied, triumphantly.

“Oh, Gross! Someone peed on that?” Michael exclaimed, wheeling away in his chair as if it would jump up and bite him. 

“Yes, Michael, do you know what this  _ means _ ?

“You didn’t find the corporate documents?” 

“Oh no, I did,” he said, fishing the crumpled paper from inside his blazer. He wasn’t Assistant Regional Manager for nothing, after all. “What this means is: One of the ladies in this office is with child and, as the safety officer I need to find out who that is so I can protect them.”

“Protect them from what, exactly?” said Michael, but Dwight ignored him, he turned to peer out of the window into the bullpen, observing his fellow workers. Taking calls, making copies, pushing paper. He felt a duty to all of them, even though they were irritating at the best of times and not one of them would last a day after the machines would inevitably take over western civilization. Except maybe Meredith, they were like newly hatched sea turtles, and it was up to him to safely guide them to the ocean.

Michael joined him at the office window. Stanley had noticed them, giving them a disapproving frown before returning to his crossword. 

“It  _ is _ kind of amazing to think that there is someone in this office who is going to have a baby, and they don’t even know it,” 

“I think they do know it, Michael, they took a pregnancy test,” Dwight interjected.

“If we want to find out who it is, we have to go about it delicately,” Michael pressed on, “You can’t interrogate them, pregnant women are 100 times more emotional than regular women. Interrogating them will go down like a bull in a Chinese shop,” 

Dwight nodded in agreement. The camera crew exchanged glances and decided to set up for one-to-ones. Dwight enjoyed the concept of the documentary as much as Angela despised it. When Michael had announced that the goings-on in the office was likely going to be filmed, he was delighted, but also wondered why it had taken so long for a documentary about paper sales to be made in the first place. The crew had also seemed to take an immediate interest in him as a subject, no doubt due to his impeccable sales record and interpersonal skills. 

Angela, however, had forbidden him from disclosing anything to them about their personal relationship, so when the documentarians innocently suggested that the pregnancy test could belong to her, Dwight had no choice but to shrug.

“There is no possible way for me to know whether Angela from accounting is sexually active, but if I  _ had _ to guess… I would say that she is not the one who’s pregnant... She is, after all, so petite that even the slightest change in her bodily proportions would be obvious,” He shifted in his chair and moved swiftly on. 

“Meredith is unlikely, due to her hysterectomy. Phyllis, while up there in years, is soon to be married to Bob Vance of Vance Refrigeration, and we can’t rule out the possibility that it is a shotgun wedding. Kelly is another likely contender, as we know she and the temp are constantly consorting in the annexe from how many times Toby has been forced to work out of the break room. Finally, we can’t rule out Pam, the dark horse in this race. Although she has recently broken off a loveless engagement, I shared a desk cluster with Jim Halpert and we all know what was going on  _ there _ . So, in conclusion… I have no idea,”

* * *

It was around lunchtime, and Dwight was staking out the break room for clues. Kelly was crying loudly while eating her burrito, which was honestly typical behaviour for Kelly. Ryan was sitting at another table, eating a turkey sandwich and trying his best to ignore her. Also not all that suspicious. He decided that out of the two, Ryan would probably be the most coherent, so Dwight pulled up a plastic chair to his table and leant back nonchalantly. 

“Heyyy buddy,” Dwight said, earning him a disturbed look which told him he might want to reel it back a bit. He sat up and cleared his throat, starting again. 

“What’s up dawg?” He tried again, in his best Jim impersonation.

“What do you want, Dwight?” Ryan sighed.

“Is Kelly okay?” he asked, doing his best to feign empathy, “Is everything alright with you two? Or… three?”

Ryan looked at him with a mixture of despair and resignation at the knowledge that for some ungodly reason, this conversation was actually going to happen. “What?”

“I’m just looking for some guy talk, c’mon, trouble in paradise?” 

“No, everything’s great actually,” he deadpanned, “She’s just upset because her plant died,” 

“Her… plant?” Dwight repeated. 

“She overwatered it, I don’t know. I told her it was stupid and now her cubicle looks less tacky. Somehow that translated to me calling  _ her _ stupid and tacky. And now I have to get her another stupid, tacky plant,” Ryan grumbled, pinching the bridge of his nose. 

“Do you think perhaps she might be upset because the plant dying is a metaphor for her inability to care for another form of life?” Dwight suggested, “Or maybe she’s… hormonal?”

“Are you guys seriously talking about me right now?” Kelly screeched between sobs, “I can’t believe how insensitive you guys are! Just because I’m on my period it does NOT mean that I’m more emotional!” 

Kelly threw her burrito on the floor and stormed out of the break room, slamming the door behind her. The camera swung back to catch Ryan’s tired expression. “She’s right,” he muttered, “She’s like that all the time,” 

* * *

So now Kelly was off his list, Dwight was observing the main office. Meredith was crossed off as soon as he caught a whiff of her coffee cup. Phyllis was knitting something the color of a baby chick. “What are you making there?” He asked her, swivelling around to face her desk, “Is it an infant sweater?” 

“No, it’s a regular sweater,” she replied, confused, but a little bit delighted that someone would take an interest in her crafts. Phyllis looked like she was about to say more when they were interrupted by someone clearing their throat. Angela placed a pile of tax forms on Dwight’s desk, giving him a pointed look before walking away. They were held together with green paperclips.

“You know, I found this new pattern-” 

“Talk later, Phyllis,” Dwight cut her off and went to the kitchen to meet Angela. She was busying herself by making herbal tea. He mimicked her, grabbing a mug and filling it with water. 

“Hi, Monkey,” 

“Hello,” she whispered in return, “How is your day going?” 

“Uneventful,” he lied

“Really? Because you’ve been acting rather peculiarly,” he knew she was frowning without even looking at her. “Pam said she sneezed and you questioned her about having  _ morning sickness _ ?”

“If you must know, I’m on a secret fact-finding mission, I’m not at liberty to discuss it in detail, but it involves one of the women in the office,” 

Angela stiffened beside him, her hand frozen mid-stir. “In what way?” 

“I shouldn’t be talking to you about this-” 

“Dwight? Oh, hey, Angela,” Michael entered the kitchen, interrupting their hushed exchange. Angela jumped, spilling tea on the counter. She turned and left the kitchen with a huff. 

“Geez, what’s with her?” Michael scoffed, “Dwight, did you find anything?” 

“Not much, but I’m fairly certain Meredith and Kelly can be counted out,” Dwight told him, absently watching Angela walk away through the glass, “So that just leaves Pam and Phyllis as viable options,” Dwight replied.

“And Angela,” Michael added, Dwight shot a split-second glance at the cameras before returning it to Michael, who pressed on, obliviously, “We need to step this up, it’s almost the end of the day. I might have an idea,” 

That was always when the fun started. 

* * *

“Everyone, may I have your attention,” Michael announced and was immediately met with a collective groan. “I have a very special surprise for all of you, so please stop what you’re doing, and join me in the conference room,”

“Michael, there are thirty minutes left in this workday, whatever this is, can’t it wait till tomorrow?” Stanley grumbled.

“ _ No, _ it can’t!” Michael replied, his grin not faltering for a second. However, when nobody made an effort to move, he changed tactics. “Okay, fine, it’s ice cream. That’s the surprise,” 

“You could have just said that,” Kevin said, as he ran to the conference room, faster than anyone expected he could move. He was swiftly followed by the rest of the office.

“Is this an ice cream party?” Kelly squealed in delight, having cheered up considerably since earlier in the afternoon. 

“Better!” Michael replied, “It’s an Ice Cream and Pickle party!” 

As promised, upon entering the conference room, they were met with the long centre table, which Dwight had decked out with several pints of ice cream and pickles. Kevin had already finished half a pint of chocolate chip. Creed, instead, had gone straight for the gherkins.

“ _ Why, _ Michael?” Pam asked, but it was a question she didn’t entirely want to be answered.

“The Party Planning Committee did not approve this,” Angela protested, her nose wrinkled as she watched Kevin use a pickle as a spoon.

“Easy there, Thumbelina,” Michael replied, “I thought you  ladies _ , in particular, _ might appreciate a little treat,” 

“Why would you think that?” Phyllis asked.

“Yeah, Michael, this is actually pretty gross,” Kelly chimed in. 

“I was just trying to do something nice for you, come on, does this not look even a little bit appetizing to any of you,” 

“I guess I've eaten worse,” Meredith shrugged and helped herself to some rocky road.

“I’m going back to work,” Phyllis said, the others muttered in agreement and turned to leave, but Michael threw his arms out in a desperate attempt to barricade the door. 

“Wait, don’t go, it’s still a party!” he scrambled, “Why don’t we play truth or dare? Pam? Truth, when was the last time you had sex?”

“Michael, you can’t ask that,” Toby said, in his world-weary voice. Angela made a disgusted noise and walked out, tilting her head slightly to get under Michael's arm. 

“Toby, who even invited you?”

Dwight had been dutifully taking notes in the corner of the room, while everyone was distracted by Michael berating Toby, he slipped out to follow Angela, who was now starting to gather her things, shoving Tupperware into her purse with aggressive force.

“You’re leaving early?” Dwight asked, surprised. Angela had never once left early, even that one time she contracted avian flu and had to fill out tax forms from the floor of the bathroom. 

“Why not?” she replied, pointedly, shrugging on her overcoat, “It seems like there’s no real work to be done around here anyway,” 

Dwight reached out and put a gentle hand on her arm, and she paused, looking at him. He could see the hurt in her pale eyes and immediately regretted his actions. “I’m sorry for stepping on your toes, Monkey. It was all apart of the investigation,” 

“ _ What _ investigation?” Angela pleaded, “Just tell me,” 

Dwight sighed, and relented. “I found a pregnancy test in the garbage this morning. Michael and I have been discreetly trying to find who it could belong to. I didn’t tell you because I know how you feel about office gossip,” 

Angela’s eyes widened, her jaw went slack. She stared at him for a few good seconds and then forced her mouth shut. 

“Dwight,” she said slowly, her voice shaking, “I need you to call off the investigation,” 

“Angela, it’s important-”

“It’s  _ mine _ ,” she whispered, and Dwight stopped short. It was his turn to be speechless. 

“I didn’t want to tell you this way, I didn’t know _ how _ to tell you…” Angela trailed off. She looked around her fervently for the cameras, but if they were there, she couldn’t see them. She took a deep breath and looked Dwight in his wide blue eyes. 

“I’m pregnant,” she said. Dwight felt himself sink onto Oscar's chair, his legs giving way as he processed the weight of her confession.  _ Björn, help him. _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> This chapter is heavily inspired by an episode of parks and rec, just because I thought it was very Dwight. I had a ton of fun with it, and hopefully, you like it!


	3. blueberry

There had been an impalpable tension that hung in the recycled air between them after she told him. Dwight sat in stunned silence for a while after the rest of the office had filed out and gone home. Pam had shot a solemn glance in their direction, a question on her face. Angela nodded in answer to it, and Pam, who was hitting up her good graces immensely as of late, steered ever-clueless Michael out by the arm with the promise of dinner at Hooters. The camera crew tailed them, gleefully. Angela added her to her prayer list for her sacrifice. 

“Dwight,” she said once they were finally alone, breaking the silence. He snapped his head up, startled as if he had been jolted from a dream. “I need you to give me some indication about how you feel about this,”

He was silent for another moment, and she reached out and put her hand on his to tether him to this plane of existence. He was starting to worry about her now. In nearly seven years of knowing him, she had never once seen Dwight speechless. 

“I…” he croaked, and Angela leaned in. He cleared his throat and started again, “What do you want to do?” 

Her heart plummeted to the carpeted floor, and she felt her hackles rising.

“What exactly do you mean by that?” the heat rose in her voice, she snatched her hand away and saw Dwight beginning to retreat again. 

“I just meant, are you… do you… I don’t know, Angela, this is just a lot to process,” was all he could manage. 

Angela rose to her feet, irrational irritation started to seep into her bloodstream. She hadn’t known what she expected his response to be, but she thought at least that she would have had it by now. “You had better process it quickly, Dwight,” she replied, icily, “Because it’s happening,” 

He made no move to follow her as she left, and it wounded her with every step. The fluorescent lights still shone through the office windows as she drove out of the parking lot. 

* * *

  
  


Angela enjoyed hospitals. They were sanitary, orderly and quiet, three things she valued tremendously and always seemed to be lacking in certain other aspects of her life. While she usually found comfort in that, today, however, the chemical smells were making her sick and the weight of the medical forms in her lap and the ticking of the clock that pierced the silence of the waiting room made her wish she could be anywhere else on earth. There was a tearful teenage girl to her left, her youthful round cheeks wet, blotchy and pink, tearing a tissue to confetti in her lap, who Angela had tsked at before remembering the proverb about throwing stones. To her right a couple sat, shamelessly holding hands, the woman looked like she would give birth any minute. For a moment Angela wished she had asked Dwight to accompany her, before bitterly pushing the thought away. 

“How far along are you?” the woman whispered to Angela, her smile revealing two large dimples.

“Well, in a few days it’ll be _none of your business_ ,” she snapped in reply, the woman turned away, red-faced. The girl beside her snorted.

Angela stood up from the grey plastic chair and busied herself with browsing the informational pamphlets which lined the walls, only to regret it. Pictures of women cradling their swollen bellies smiling at her under titles like “Choices for Childbirth,” “Your Baby and You,” and “Take a Proactive Approach to Pregnancy,” made her nausea worse. She found herself reaching for “I’m Pregnant. Now What?” when her name was finally called.

Her midwife’s name was Grace, according to her nametag. Young, yet matronly, she had kind eyes, deep brown skin and coiled hair which was pulled back in a poofy ponytail. A delicate silver cross hung from around her neck, which melted some of Angela’s nerves. Not all of them, but some. 

“Hello, Miss Martin,” she greeted her warmly, Angela flinched at the prefix.

“Angela’s fine,” she corrected her, gingerly taking a seat beside Grace’s desk. “Listen, I know you’re about to ask me a lot of invasive questions, so let me just tell you upfront everything I’m willing to discuss. First of all, I’m unmarried, I live with seven cats and whether or not that is subject to change is undetermined, and I’d rather not get into it, thank you very much. The Father and I are in an exclusive but currently secret relationship, we are both financially stable and work full time at the same paper company, he also owns and runs a beet farm which doubles as a bed and breakfast. We haven’t yet discussed what his involvement will be but I know that he is too proud to not be involved in some way and will probably insist that his child be the heir to said beet farm.”

She briefly paused to take a breath, Grace who was still standing, was listening in slight bewilderment, her brows inching ever closer to her hairline as she went on. 

“I don’t smoke, I don’t drink alcohol, I don’t do drugs. I try to go jogging for 30 minutes every morning. I am a vegetarian and I am not too inclined to change my diet but I’m not unwilling to make sacrifices. I have health care but I don’t know if antenatal care is covered, I’ll have to check with Dwight, he was the one that came up with the plan and I don’t think he considered...” Angela trailed off, and after the barrage of information sunk in, Grace cleared her throat. 

“Thank you for that, Angela,” She began slowly, “Can we start from the beginning, you said you live with… _seven_ cats? Do you um, do you live alone, or-”

“Living with seven cats is hardly living alone,” Angela cut her off pointedly.

“Okay, what I mean is do you have someone who can help you take care of them while you’re pregnant? The baby’s father maybe? You see, cat litter is actually extremely harmful to the fetus and…”

Grace stopped again, this time not for anything Angela said, but for the way her face had crumpled and the tears that had started falling without warning or permission. Angela snatched a tissue from a box on the nurse's desk as a convulsive sob racked through her tiny body. She blotted her hot, wet cheeks and tried in vain to compose herself. She didn’t know what had gotten into her. Well, no, she knew exactly what had gotten into her, but she had no idea why it was making her act so improperly. 

The other woman didn’t turn her nose up at her display of emotions, as anybody else would. Instead, she watched her, a careful cocktail of concern and compassion. She reached out her slender hand, placed it on hers. 

“Angela, has anyone gone through your options with you?” she asked, delicately, and Angela snatched her hand away, burned. 

“How _dare you,_ ” she hissed, whatever mixed emotions she had been feeling quickly diluted into pure anger at the suggestion.

“I don’t want you to feel as though-” 

“Feel as though I couldn’t murder my unborn child if I wanted? I’m well aware of the sacrilegious state I live in thank you very much,” she replied. 

Grace looked as though she might bravely carry on the debate before a look of reluctant resignation overtook her features. 

“Can you tell me the date of your last period and the date on which you might have conceived?” She asked with resignation

“No,”

“You’re not sure?”

“No, I know,” Angela replied coolly, “But that information is personal,”

“Angela, I only need to know this to be able to give you as accurate a due date as I can,” Grace told her slowly, her patient tone beginning to fray. Angela huffed but told her what she wanted to hear as if she had a scalpel to her throat. 

* * *

Mose was on his knees in the dirt, tending to the beets, and at first, Angela thought he might be them singing a German folk song, but quickly recognised the tune to be _99 Luftballons_. It was best not to ask. Mose didn’t stand to greet her as she approached, but he did wrap his arms around her legs in an awkward, childish show of affection. Mose didn’t know how to act around Angela. According to Dwight, she was the first woman he ever saw who wasn’t related to them, and when they had first been introduced he had tried to hide behind Dwight like a shy toddler but had since warmed to her considerably. Sometimes he brought her bunches of dandelions or carrot flowers, and let her hold his hand when she said grace. 

“Hi Mose,” she greeted him with a pat on the head, “Where can I find him?” 

Mose released his grip of her shins and nodded his head towards the farmhouse, “Kitchen,” he replied, “He’s in a bad mood. He didn’t even wanna clean the chicken coop this morning,” 

Angela chewed on her lip, gingerly wiped at the dirty handprints now staining her tights and thanked him. When she turned to leave, Mose surprised her by pointing at her torso and saying “Congratulations, by the way,” 

She gaped at him, stopping short, “Dwight told you?” 

“Told me what?” He asked with genuine innocence and turned his attention back to the beets.

* * *

Her key lingered in the lock. She remembered the thrill of the first time she had turned it, how she buzzed with excitement and anticipation, knowing on the other side she would see the face of the man who had given it to her and the way he lit up like a light when she entered the room. That had been months ago, yet the feeling hadn’t faded. Now it was replaced with another, darker feeling. Something almost resembling dread, of seeing that same face, and getting a different reaction.

Dwight was in the kitchen as promised, busying himself over the stove, his glasses were all steamed up. He pulled them off to wipe them on a corner of his worn cotton apron as she entered. 

“Hello Angela,” he said with an odd formality which was usually reserved for work hours, “You’ve arrived just in time, I’ve just finished making a vegetable loaf,” 

Angela smiled at the gesture. Dwight’s cooking abilities were something that had surprised her about him at first but also endeared her. To her dismay, however, her stomach turned at the smell, and she quickly doubled back to the porch and ruined his peonies with her breakfast. When she returned, Dwight had opened a window, a glass of water in his hand and a look of concern on his face.

“Thank you,” she said meekly, as she took the drink from him, grimacing as she washed the sour taste from her mouth. He said nothing but pulled out a chair for her in a gentle show of chivalry. 

She took a seat graciously, then pulled her purse into her lap, dug around for the reason for her visit, and presented it to Dwight, willing her hand not to tremble as she did so. He stared for a beat before he realised what it was that she was showing him. He then quickly took the small, dark picture and held it close to his face, scrutinising it. 

“Where is it?” Dwight asked after a beat, his brow furrowed. He lowered himself into the chair next to her, and Angela pointed to a little black dot, hidden amongst the abstract shapes and curves of the sonogram.

“I couldn’t see it at first either,” She told him, softly, “it’s only the size

of a blueberry,”

Dwight turned his gaze to her flat stomach, awe and curiosity gleamed behind his bifocals, Angela fought the urge to put a defensive arm in front of her. He looked back to the sonogram and cleared his throat.

“Blueberries come in various sizes,” he said, stating the fact without his usual conviction. “Depending on the species and habitat,”

“It’s small,” Angela replied, “Do you want to keep it? I have a copy,”

Dwight nodded and carefully tucked the picture into the pocket of his overalls, and Angela was silently relieved. A comfortable silence followed, they met each other's eyes, before she could muster up a smile, he cleared his throat.

“We should discuss our marriage,” He said flatly as if discussing the weather. She jumped at the statement, stared at him and his unreadable eyes. 

“No,” Angela said, the word surprised her as much as it did him, as it flew out of her mouth. 

“I thought that's what you would have wanted?” Dwight brow was furrowed, trying to mask his hurt with confusion. 

Angela understood where that impression came from. It came from the snide remarks towards women pushing strollers without wedding bands on their fingers, or the homilies she forced Dwight to sit through where her pastor would beg them to consider the souls of the babies born out of wedlock, damned to limbo. The tightness in her chest grew just thinking about it, and what he was saying was true. Except, maybe, it wasn’t. 

“I don’t know what I want, Dwight,” She managed to say, looking away from him, so he couldn’t see the tears that welled in the corners of her eyes. “This is all happening very fast,” 

They fell quiet again, Dwight pensively scratched his fingernail against the grain of the wooden table. 

“Is there anything I can do?” he asked.

Angela tried to pin down a thought as her mind raced, but she couldn’t think of a single thing. Everything was hitting her at once, and it was overwhelming, what Grace had said to her at the hospital about her options, the idea of marrying Dwight, of rejecting him. The unreadable look on his face as he waited. A Europop song churning in her head accompanied by the sound of a fetal heartbeat. The smell of the vegetable loaf, and a sudden craving for blueberries. 

“You can clean out the litter trays,” 

**Author's Note:**

> The title comes from The King of Carrot Flowers by Neutral Milk Hotel.


End file.
